


Satisfaction

by 61Below



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, M/M, Neurodiversity, Rimming, Spanking, Stimming, otp: we're a team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:52:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/61Below/pseuds/61Below
Summary: Jack has a complicated relationship with sensation. No, scratch that.Societyhas a complicated relationship with how Jack processes sensation. Bitty gets it.It isn't about pain, it isn't about punishment. It's about enjoying what feels good for them.





	Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> All hail Ngozi!
> 
> Ah, hi, so... this is my love letter to stimming? I wrote about some of the sensory processing...quirks that I have, both the tactile and auditory. Anyway. This fandom needs more butt-smacking. Enjoy. :]

Jack stared at the computer screen, completely overwhelmed. _Câlice de tabarnak_ , why did he go to an American school again? Oh, he could speak English just fine, but reading and writing at a technical level like this? _Va chier_ , LexusNexus, _osti d’épais de mar—_

Shitty caught his wrist and pinned his hand to the library desk, whisper-shouting, “Hey whoa, what’d that pretty face ever do to deserve that?” 

Jack tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, tried to ignore the stiff seams of his new SMH shirt, tried to ignore the wrongwrongwrong of his fellow frog’s skin on skin, like ants crawling up his arm. His cheeks flamed that he was caught, and, too late, he shrugged his free shoulder. “—Habit.”

Shitty let him go to point a finger in his face, mustache bristling sideways with a smirk. “Well, stop that. You can’t slap those precious cheeks, your perfect skin’ll bruise and angels would weep.”

Jack couldn’t tell if Shitty was serious or joking, his smile at odds with his attempt at a coach-voice. Jack listened to coach-voices, so he sat on his hand and said, “I won’t.”

But it was even harder to focus after that. 

\----

Jack was sitting in the first meeting with all the new frogs, Coach Hall explaining the team rules, and a lawn mower roared outside the open window. Jack already knew everything the coaches were talking about, he’d heard it all last year and so far there hadn’t been any changes. He had to look like the captain they thought he was, but— The plastic chairs were awful, weirdly-molded and too-small and too-hard. One of the frogs kept sniffing. Jack couldn’t un-hear it, and it _grated_.

He flicked his palm. 

Mm. 

He flicked again, and again, and _there_ , that rhythm was nice. He hid his hands beneath the half-desk so no one would see. The frog sniffed again, but this time it didn’t seem to bother him as much. 

Then the tiny new manager leaned over, and Jack froze. But she just asked, “Do you want a hair tie?”

Jack just looked at her, not even able to put a word to his question, and she showed him her wrist from beneath her desk, hair ties loose like bracelets, and snapped one. It was much quieter than his way. So he nodded and she slipped a thick lime green one over. 

He stretched it over his palm and snapped it. It was different, but it would do. 

She nodded and went back to taking notes on a hard-plastic clipboard/box, and Jack knew then that she was a friend.

\-----

They won, they’d _won_ , his first NHL game and they’d _won_ on his goal. Jack leaned forward in his stall, rocking, still only in a towel, his hair still wet and spiky beneath his fingers. He tugged, and _mm, yep,_ that was nice. He tugged again, longer, and hummed, but it wasn’t enough. He felt like his skin was buzzing, fizzing, and everything was so good—his legs did so good, thighs like jelly, still sort of quivering from skating so hard. He patted the outside of his thighs, then harder. Then the tops of his thighs, above his knees on the bare skin not covered by the towel, then the insides, outsides, tops, and insides again, two slaps each, and again—

“Zimmboni! Be nice to knees, they did good tonight!” Tater called, and Jack jumped. 

“Oh. –ha. Right.” He felt like a kid called up in front of class for bad behavior. 

Then Thirdy shouted, “Zimmermann, get dressed so you can get your puck! Or else your pic, _your first goal pic_ is gonna be of you in your skivvies!”

“Ya, then they could put it up next to you pooping in the Cup!” Jack couldn’t tell who that’d come from when laughter erupted. 

He ducked his head, then Tater clapped him hard on the shoulder and said quietly (for Tater, at least) “Sincere congrats, baby rookie. We all proud.”

Jack buzzed his lips and pushed out, “Thanks, Tater.”

\-----

But Bits—Bits—

Bittle never made him stop—stop flapping, or flicking, or slapping. 

Bittle brought home a bag of old t-shirts from Madison when he came to visit in August. “They always bought them too big, never stopped hopin’ I’d get that last growth spurt, but even then, I’d used seam rippers to get the tags out, because you and I _both_ know that scissors never cut it.” Jack snorted, and Bits slapped his chest. “You know what I mean!” 

Bittle showed up on his doorstep with the surprise-stay for winter break, and Jack couldn’t breathe, but only in the best way for once. He brought his Moomaw’s old quilt with him, the old fabric worn soft and _heavy_ , and he spread it across their bed. He used unscented detergent and felt balls instead of dryer sheets, so their sheets always came out soft without smelling like anything other than sheets. 

Jack loved Bitty, _loved_ him, and it was overwhelming in the best way. Jack wanted to make him happy, Bitty wanted to make him happy, too, and it was that simple. This was the kind of forever-feeling that he never thought he’d be able to have. Robots like him didn’t get happy ever afters, but this, _this?_ This was worth more than anything. And _that_ was a new feeling. Bitty filled his condo, expanding to fill every vacant space, and Jack knew he wanted this for the rest of his life. 

And Bits— _Bits_ —

Spread out golden and strong across their sheets, light streaming in and catching on his still-wet hair, highlighting his last pale freckles—still breathless from being thrown onto their bed after a shared shower, squirming as Jack kissed down his chest, his abs, the cut of his hips sharp above his leaking cock, gasping as Jack sucked him down without a barrier between them for the first time, _finally_ able to set aside the frustrating taste of latex, a high whine tumbling from his kiss-bitten lips, his hands in Jack’s hair and—

When Jack groaned around him, Bitty begged, “Oh lord, _yes_ honey, more please—please more—”

His strong fingers tightened, and Jack was dough in his hands. He hollowed his cheeks as he pulled up, blush hot on his face, and hummed when Bits’ jaw dropped at the sight. Then Jack paused there, waiting, with only the head cradled warm against his tongue, and Bitty blinked. Jack smiled around his cock, and Bitty stared. 

“Jack.” 

Jack waited some more. 

“Jack, _please._ ”

Jack only tongued his slit and dropped his gaze to try to see the rest of him, before looking back up at Bits, who squirmed with a whine, but _oh_ his hips thrust up a bit and Jack moaned as he took it. He kept his eyes locked with Bitty's, until—

“ _Ohyougorgeousman—_ ” Bits breathed all in a tumble before his grip tightened and he pushed Jack’s head down.

They both groaned, and Bits’ hips thrust up again. Jack’s hands fisted in the sheets, and his focus zeroed in on the heavy feeling of Bits between his lips and how to breathe. 

“Ohgosh, honey—! So good, you’re so good-oh god! Honey—honey, if it’s too much-ohh—if it’s ever –!! Tap out. I need you to do that for me, okay? I need it—”

Jack reached up and stroked his cheek, and Bits caught the pad of his thumb with a kiss. Jack’s breath blew out his nose in a rush, and Bitty shivered, then thrust him down again and Jack fought not to choke. 

“Yeah, take it—so good, _god_ Jack, your mouth– you’re so pretty—”

And Jack gave himself over to the rhythm of it, and Bitty was careful with him, always giving him the chance to breathe. And when he started to get a little erratic, he just fucked up shallowly into his mouth until he started to pull Jack up by his hair, but Jack whined and dove back down, sensations cascading over him: Bits’ tight grip pulling his hair, Bits’ ass filling his hands as Jack pulled him closer, his own cock rutting harder against the bed, Bits’ hard cock filling his mouth and coming so deep down his throat he couldn’t taste a thing, his broken shouts loud in their room, and Jack pulled off with a gasp, so close, _so much—_ and— he came all over the sheets. 

Bitty stroked his fingers through Jack’s hair, his voice softening and slowing and drawling, blissed out and pouring out praise like rain, and Jack muzzled his rough cheeks against Bits’ belly, and he floated. 

\-----

Special occasions aside, Jack liked his routine. It was even better to be able to fold Bitty into his routine again. It was still dark when the alarm went off, the weak winter sun rising as they started their way home, and the streets were quiet as they ran together. Bits’ face was serene as he gave himself over to the miles, and Jack marveled again at the lithe strength of him. Once home, they’d shower, and Jack would cook breakfast. 

Jack liked the unvarying simplicity of a thin metal spatula in a cast iron skillet that was never washed, of bacon fried rare to that point where it melted in his mouth, of six eggs fried just a little more than easy over, of fresh ground coffee tapped three times into the basket, _then_ into the coffee maker, _Shitty if you leave the basket in the machine when you pour in the grounds, some WILL end up outside of the filter, and I do not want to chew my coffee—_ Bittle came up behind him, wrapping his arms up his chest, the long sleeves of one of Jack’s old flannels half-covering his hands. Jack ducked his head to press a kiss to those fingertips. The coffee maker gurgled, and it was time to flip the eggs. 

Sometimes, for no real reason Jack could put into words, he would let out a lip buzz as long as he could, and Bitty would pick a note and hum it as long as he could back. Sometimes Bitty would be holding him when he did that, and the vibration in Bits’ chest was… it felt good. 

Bitty baked while Jack was at skate. Bitty cheered from the stands when Jack played at home, and Bitty was home when Jack came back from roadies, flopping into bed still fully-clothed and thankful with every fiber of his being that their condo smelled like bread and cinnamon and Bitty’s shampoo. Bitty charmed his teammates and their families at family skate, and when Marty & Thirdy saw his expression as he watched Bitty skate with the kids, they caught him in a dual headlock. 

“A fine for that face, kiddo!” Marty cackled. 

Jack shrugged out of their attack and tried to get his hair back in order. 

“We like him,” Thirdy said softly. “You picked a good’un.”

Jack’s face flamed. “I have no idea how I got this lucky.”

They shared an _Aww!_ look, but then Tater started trying to talk Bitty into doing lifts, and Jack _had to go—_

And Bitty never looked at him weird when he always had to scrape the skillet three times, to clean any scraps out before he’d cook, or when he’d sometimes slap the tender skin on the insides of his elbows four times each, twice, or when he’d sometimes have to step aside and find some alone space when they were out in a crowd. Bitty never tried to make him talk, always seemed to know when his words were just beyond reach. And with that freedom, Jack finally felt confident that he could take the time to gather his thoughts and feelings to be able _to_ put them into words. Bitty was _safety_.

Because to some degree, Bittle got it, too, that odd dichotomy of being both overwhelmed by and getting calming satisfaction from…things. Bits reacted more to sounds rather than tactile feedback, so Jack got him those ear plugs that don’t block out everything, just muffle loud sounds, so the Bangs and Booms that were just a part of life at the Haus wouldn’t stress him out as badly. Jack also got him Bose noise-cancelling headphones so he could _really_ listen when he needed the music to pull him into the right headspace. Bitty cried into Jack’s shirt. 

Bitty’s cowlick was one of his favorite things, and Jack took the opportunity to kiss it. They would take care of each other. He wanted that more than anything else in the world.

\----- 

Jack let himself be manhandled out of the shower, grateful again that Bitty had talked him into getting the heated towel rack, and he rumbled deep in his chest when Bits roughly dried him off. Jack chased down for a kiss, and Bits marched him backwards into their bedroom. Breakfast could _absolutely_ wait. But– he whined when Bitty pressed him away to lay face-down on the bed. 

But then Bitty started kissing his way down Jack’s back, and Jack flexed his arms overhead to highlight the breadth of his shoulders, and he shuddered when Bits swore against his skin. 

Then he nudged Jack’s hips wider, and Jack felt a full-body shiver roll through him. Bits’ lips were hot on the base of his spine, and Jack arched back at him with a moan. 

“Mm, yes, this _does_ deserve to be loved on, doesn’t it?” Bitty crooned as he spread his hands over Jack’s ass, thumbs digging in, and Jack buried his face in the sheets. “A veritable eighth world wonder, a true national treasure—” Bits jiggled his ass and Jack cried out. 

“Bits, _please!_ ”

“—and all mine.” Bitty spread his cheeks and dove in.

Jack shouted. 

He was caught between the sensations of Bitty’s tongue, hot and wet and maddening, and thrusting down into the sheets, the friction just…not right enough. Then Bitty’s strong, _strong_ fingers dug into his cheeks, kneading, and he let go to come back to grab a bigger handful, harder, and that little pop of palm on bare skin punched the breath right out of Jack’s chest. 

“ _Bits_ , yes –that!” 

Bitty hummed against him and patted his ass again. 

Jack could feel his face flaming, hidden against the bedding, but –it had been almost perfect. So he choked out, “Nngh, _more_ –”

Bits pulled back, hands still hot as brands across his ass, and asked, “Yeah? You want it? My handprints red across your pretty bottom?” 

Jack groaned and ground down against the sheets, flexing, and he heard Bitty choke on air behind him. He grinned and looked back over his shoulder, arching his back as temptingly as he could. Bitty looked punch-drunk himself, and Jack bit his lip to watch him swallow hard, then pleaded, “Bits, _s'il te plaît– s'il-te–_ ”

 _Smack!_

Jack wailed and almost missed Bitty breathe, “Ohmystars, _Jack_ —” 

Jack nodded to tell him it was good, _so_ good, but words were beyond reach now. 

Bitty cracked his palm across the other cheek, Jack’s breathy moan almost as satisfying as the jiggle and blooming blush. “Oh _fuck!_ ” Bits cried and buried his face back between those cheeks, smacking haphazardly as he thrust his tongue as deep as he could. Jack squirmed back and down, fucking himself on his tongue and against the sheets, breaths punched out with each slap, and Bits felt himself barreling toward his edge. He spanked Jack faster, with both hands, moaning himself, and then Jack came with a high choked whine. Bitty gasped and scrambled up to his knees, one hand on his straining cock, one hand pinning Jack by the small of his back, and he came in white streaks all over the red flush across Jack’s ass. 

Bitty panted, a bit shocked at himself, and then Jack reached back to snag him by the waist to topple over into a snuggle. Jack nuzzled his face into Bits’ still-wet hair with a contented rumble, and Bitty buried his face in Jack’s chest, letting his thundering heartbeat ground him. After a long moment, Jack breathed, “Thank you, _lapinou_.”

Bitty pulled back with a smile. “Sure thing, sweetpea.”

Then they both got up and got cleaned up again. The day was just getting started.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, stimming. Like, for example, I didn't even know I was doing it til a coworker got real concerned bc I kept lightly smacking my face whenever I'd get overloaded, which... frankly I would _love_ to find a quieter way to chill, but nothing else really works as well. Same thing with rubber bands or pens flicked against my palms. I've no idea what it all boils down to, when I was a kid my school decided punishment was their go-to game-plan instead of anything like screening for ND issues, so I've never been in to get a diagnosis. I've been able to muddle through on my reputation as being an eccentric hermit. God bless the internet and noise-cancelling headphones. *waves*
> 
> Please let me know if I failed to get the Québécois right? French is not my second language and google lies, but I tried my best. 
> 
>  
> 
> If you’d like an NSFW link to see some of that loving spanking, here you go: https://iittle-s.tumblr.com/post/161371794399 
> 
>  
> 
> _I fucking love these boys so damn much._


End file.
